


How Ya Doin'?

by buckybuck (thestarsthesea)



Series: baby I could burn you down - a drabble series [1]
Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Drabble, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, but no action is actually present, natasha is mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7261057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsthesea/pseuds/buckybuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>based off the prompt: “We met each other on a Sunday morning, both doing our walk of shame” AU</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Ya Doin'?

**Author's Note:**

> [fic disclaimer: this is the first time I've _ever_ written in the marvel fandom. I've read a lot of fic! but this is the first time I've ever wanted to contribute, so keep that in mind as you read. and also, I haven't had the motivation to to much writing the past few years, so I'm wayyyy rusty. this is essentially me trying to get back into it a bit, I really miss writing, so I'm trying to fall back in love with it. and why not by writing for my new otp??]

~***~

The sun is too bright, his head is throbbing harshly behind his left eyeball, and his shirt smells a little too strongly of beer and sex than is entirely comfortable. Clint squints around, longing desperately for his sunglasses, and tries to figure out how far away his apartment is from where he’s ended up.

Which is, ya know, kinda hard when you’ve got your eyes mostly closed.

With a shrug, and a worrying lack of shit to give, Clint turns around and heads in a direction. It’ll probably lead him home eventually.

Clint’s still wandering down the sidewalk, buildings and people blurry through his eyelashes, when he stumbles into a ridiculously hard wall of muscle. He flounders awkwardly for a moment before losing balance completely and slowly pitching backwards. He has a flash of a moment to think a preemptive _aw, sidewalk, no_ before he’s abruptly jerked to a stop.

He’s only aware he closed his eyes when he has to force them open again, blinking a few times against the bright sky. He’s pulled upright, and Clint’s gaze ends up pointing downwards, only to find a hand twisted into the front of his dirty shirt. A metal hand.

What?

Clint pulls his eyes from the shining silver fingers wrapped in the purple cotton of his tshirt, and lock instead onto a pair of bright grey eyes. A choked gurgle leaves his mouth before he can do anything to stop it, and it has him mentally berating himself for being an idiot, even as the stranger’s eyes crinkle sweetly at the corners.

“Um,” Clint shakes his head and glances down, anywhere other than those shining eyes, and finds dark stubble surrounding the most _sinful_ pink lips he’s ever seen. The lips pull into a downright _offensive_ smug smirk, and any words Clint had managed to scrounge up (which wasn’t many, if he’s honest) shrivel and die in the face of something so goddamn pornographic so early in the morning. He blurts, “I am _way_ too hungover for your face, dude.” and fucking _dies_ inside. Aw, mouth, _no_.

Clint watches in desperate awe as the smirk grows into a full-blown grin. He can feel his own mouth part slightly as the stranger lets out a breathy chuckle, ducking his chin a little, causing dark hair to fall and brush against the man’s _perfect_ jawline.

The man still hasn’t let go of Clint’s shirt, and Clint’s really kind of feeling like running away in embarrassment, but also _really_ kind of feeling like staying on this sidewalk forever so the stranger doesn’t step away. 

He’s still fighting with himself over it when the guy looks back up, still smiling, still ruining Clint’s life. He raises an eyebrow, and _c’mon_. “You walkin’ home from a fun night, too?”

It’s a shocking enough question that it jolts Clint’s brain back online a little, enough that words are actually stumbling through his mind again. He grimaces, fighting down an uncharacteristic blush. “That obvious, huh?”

The stranger chuckles again, and Clint feels the man’s fingers finally relax in his tshirt, and he has a wild thought of _aw, no, why_ but the man doesn’t pull away, just flattens his hand against Clint’s sternum. The metal is vaguely cold though his shirt, and Clint’s fingers twitch from his repressed shudder. “Well, you look exactly how I feel. And that’s where I’m comin’ from, so.” And Clint’s brain is right back to shorting out, not at all ready for the thought of this beautiful man and sex existing on the same plane. Clint’s eyebrow twitches. “Plus you kinda smell like beer and come, so I figured it was a good guess.”

Clint groans and the stranger smirks again, devastating and roguish. And Clint’s not sure what’s going on here but _fuck_ if he’s not prepared for it. He needs coffee. “God, I need coffee.”

The man grins, metal fingers dragging down and over, stopping to pluck at the hem resting on Clint’s hip. “I can help with that. Apartment's only ‘round the corner.”

Clint considers it; takes in the stranger’s rumpled clothes, bright eyes, bold movements, the hesitance around his smile. And _God_ it might be the stupidest fucking idea he’s ever had, and Nat might have to fish his dumb ass out of this later (which she’ll _kill_ him for), but boy does he wanna say yes.

He licks his lips, sways forward a little, makes a decision. “Clint Barton.”

The man’s grin grows, slow, turning bright, and maybe a little shy. A cool, smooth thumb presses into the skin of his hipbone, and Clint can’t help but lean into it, and _man_ does he hope he can get more acquainted with that hand later. Who knew metal arms were a turn on? “Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky Barnes. Hm. “Well, Bucky, I think you said something about coffee?”

Bucky’s smile is sharp, and that should maybe worry him, but it’s accompanied by a searing hot gaze and Clint’s one minute away from getting hard in the fucking street caught in that heat. Clint feels Bucky’s hand clench tight on his hip and he sways closer, his nose brushing _so_ lightly against Clint’s. “Hm. Thinkin’ we should skip it.”

Clint can’t suppress the shudder this time, and he moves to grip Bucky’s sleeve, his breath leaving his lungs in a rush. “Maybe.”

Bucky abruptly pulls away, smirking as he grabs Clint’s wrist and hauls him in the direction he had been coming from. And yeah, okay, maybe he’s gonna die at the hands of this _incredibly attractive_ stranger. Or _maybe_ he’s gonna get laid, _again_ , and get some coffee afterwards.

Watching Bucky’s back muscles shift under his too-tight tshirt, feeling his cool fingers warm around Clint’s wrist, and, well. Clint’s willing to risk the danger (and wrath of Natasha Romanoff) for the chance at option two.

And before he even realises it’s happened, Clint is ushered through the front of a modest apartment building, up a few flights of stairs, and through a faded blue door. He’s still reeling a bit (he really needs that coffee), and before he can get his bearings or say anything, Bucky spins around, grinning hotly as he pushes Clint against the door, and then those enticing pink lips are (finally) on Clint’s.

And yeah…

Yeah, okay.

No coffee.

But _God_. Best walk of shame _ever_.

~***~

**Author's Note:**

> hello there!  
> hope you enjoyed my lil drabble! as I said, I haven't written in a long time, and I'm not used to these characters yet, really, so I hope it wasn't too terrible lol
> 
> official disclaimer: I don't own marvel, and I don't own Clinton Francis _or_ Bucky.  
>  title credit: little mix
> 
> not beta'd, so informing me of any glaring errors would be super great!  
> <333


End file.
